After leaving Rockport harbor, on foot, I stopped to ask directions from an older couple out for a Saturday morning stroll.
“How do I get to Camden?”
“Oh,” they said, stretching out the word, “go that-a-way, for a mile or two. You’re bound to get there.”
Their accent was strong. Their faces were weathered in similar patterns. Their smiles were friendly. I believed them (although the distance thing was a little unclear).
I checked my watch. I still had two hours before I needed to catch my ride to Portland airport. So, I set off for Camden.
Forests, meadows, farmland. I was surprised at the rich ruralness along the coast. Between Rockport and Camden there were very few homes. Every so often, I could catch a glimpse of the water through the trees. But mostly, just the trees, thick and green, dripping with moss.
After about an hour of walking, I started to wonder if I was on the right road. Then suddenly, I could see it, through the trees, Camden harbor, unmistakably beautiful.
Clear blue water dotted with bobbing sailboats, lush green trees rising to meet the blue sky.
I wax poetic.
In all fairness, I was pretty thirsty by this time and may have been slightly delirious. I didn’t bring a water bottle with me and I had been walking for a few hours.
So, after buying a water bottle in a local pharmacy, I took a few pictures and set off back to Rockport and my journey home.
Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. However, next time I will bring plenty of bug repellant. The mosquitoes enjoyed me a lot more than I enjoyed them. Be that as it may, Rockport and Camden, Maine, are picturesquely quaint, in the summer. Not in the winter. I spent a winter in Maine, once. I can barely speak of it…even now…But that’s another story…